


Brick by Brick

by Azzandra



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Engagement, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, almost everyone lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: Dedue and Annette are engaged. They prepare for a wedding, but also a marriage and all that entails.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	Brick by Brick

When Dedue slipped the ring onto Annette's finger, he did not expect the gasp and worried look on her face.

"Oh no," she said, alarmed, "I don't have a ring for you!"

He nearly laughed in relief, because he had had a split second of time to imagine her thinking better of it and turning down his proposal after all. As slowly and carefully as he thought about some things, Dedue found his imagination for disastrous scenarios to be quicker than expected in some cases.

"It is fine," Dedue assured, and leaned down to kiss her temple. "I do not expect one from you at this very moment."

"Alright, maybe not--" Annette huffed. "But I'll get you one! As pretty as mine."

She beamed and raised her hand to look at her finger. The band was made of a simple metal alloy that Dedue had been assured would not interfere or be destroyed by spellcasting, but the stone was the same color as Annette's eyes. He had thought of them from the second he had seen it, but the design of the ring was otherwise plain; unassuming, on the hand of a young woman as bright and fashionable as Annette. Perhaps he had misjudged, inexperienced as he was with such things, but Mercedes, who had helped him pick it out, assured him Annette would be delighted.

'Wedding bands should suit both partners' tastes,' Mercedes had said, giving him that soft knowing smile of hers.

So when Annette set a date for them to go into Fhirdiad on one of their few shared days off, he was certain he knew what it was about.

They walked through Fhirdiad's market arm in arm, even to the stares of the Faerghan populace. Annette, small and bright in her colorful shawl, held her chin at a stubborn angle, pointedly ignoring both the glares they received, and the way eyes were averted as if they were a shameful spectacle. Acceptance for the people of Duscur was still slow going, but Annette was never one to pace herself.

He didn't know precisely where they were going when they turned off from the marketplace and took an unfamiliar street; he expected there had to be a jeweler's shop somewhere, except that this seemed to be the residential neighborhood, quieter than the commercial streets where a sign hung over every door.

"We haven't talked much about what we're going to do once we're married," Annette said.

"We haven't," he agreed, and wondered where this was going. Of all possible paths for this conversation to take, however, he did not expect Annette to produce a key from her pocket.

"That's why I wanted to show you something," she said. "To, um... ask you what you think."

He watched, mildly bewildered, as she fit the key into the lock of a house; it was a nice house, small and unassuming, weather-worn but still sturdy. It had the shuttered windows of a place long since lived in, but this was not an uncommon sight after the war. There were many lives, many families, with empty spaces where violence had ravaged through. It was not the only empty house Dedue had seen in the past year since the war ended, though he had also seen them fill up one by one over time.

The interior of the little house was dusty, the few pieces of furniture covered by grimy sheets.

"The old lady who owns it is looking to sell," Annette explained, walking in, looking around. It was dark, so she pried one of the shutters open. The sun poured in and lit up a glowing shaft of dust on the air.

This notion gave Dedue pause.

"And would you like us to live here?" he asked. "After we are married?" 

Annette curled a lock of her hair around her finger, in a nervous gesture.

"If you'd like it!" Annette said. "I know one of us would have to move anyway," she reasoned, and she was correct, because currently Dedue inhabited a set of quarters at the castle, and Annette had her own room at the School of Sorcery, where she taught classes. "I was just thinking recently... about the house where I grew up. Here, in Fhirdiad. We were happy, for the most part." 

Before her father left, she meant, but Dedue did not remark on that. She looked at their surroundings with a faraway cast to her eyes, seeing a different house in a different time. 

"It wasn't much. We didn't have servants, or anything. It wasn't a palace. But it was our family home, so we loved it. I guess..." She gave a small laugh, fingers still nervously fidgeting at a lock of her hair. "I guess I've been thinking lately, about what having a home and a family with you would mean." Then color rose to her cheek as she grew flustered. "Not that I'm saying we need to start a family right away, or anything! We should, um, probably figure out a bunch of other things first! Oh, but then... sometimes things happen, and it's better that we're settled before we-- well, you know! Not that I'm saying we should, it's just--" She groaned and his her face in her hands. "I don't know what I'm saying actually. I'm going to stop talking now."

Dedue, as charmed as ever by Annette's torrent of words, was glad she wasn't looking at him because he needed the brief reprieve to compose himself. He had been thinking, ever since the proposal, maybe a bit before, about talking to Annette of living together, as a married couple was assumed to do. She had a tendency to pile her tasks high and then panic as she tried to accomplish anything, and a bit of planning ahead could save her a lot of trouble; it was better than Annette realizing the day after the wedding that she suddenly needed to move all her things from her lodgings at the School of Sorcery.

He had not expected, however, this house: it was not in the safe confines of Dimitri's castle, where Dedue had become a common sight by this point, and accepted as a fact of life by even the most recalcitrant of Dimitri's subjects. This house was in the heart of Fhirdiad, public and out in the light, where strangers' judgment could fall on Annette for marrying a man of Duscur.

Well. Annette had never been a coward, and it was not that he expected to be a secret, but Dedue still found some strange sort of gratification searing sharp and warm in his chest. He couldn't resist the impulse to close the distance between himself and Annette, and gather her into his arms.

"It is too soon for children," he said, addressing her worry first. "You are still settling into your role as professor, and I am likely to travel to Duscur often over the next year."

"You're probably right," Annette agreed, her voice muffled as she hid her face into his chest.

"But we can talk about children later. In a year. In two." In five, or in ten, whenever it suited Annette, and whenever he would have time to take care of her and a child both. They were young yet--would be young for years to follow--and some things were better if they were not rushed.

In some ways, maybe it felt like they were running behind. Like the war had been an interruption in the normal flow of life, and now, belatedly, they were picking their way through parts of adulthood that had eluded them while they had time for nothing but fighting or killing.

But it would be fine. They were going to figure it out.

"There's... another thing I wanted to talk to you about," Annette said, disentangling herself from Dedue arms and looking up at him seriously.

She reached into her pocket and produced a ring: it was a solid silver band, but delicately engraved with vines.

"If the house didn't go over well, I was going to give it to you another time," Annette admitted, "but since you like it, this seemed like a good time."

Dedue was only mildly dazed as he offered a hand, and she slipped the band onto his finger.

"Ah, it's a good fit!" Annette said, relieved. Then she laced her fingers with his, raising their hands up for inspection. "And now we match!"

When she looked up at him with her dimpled smile, backlit by golden dust on the air, Dedue seared the image into his mind.

* * *

The wedding was going to be a small affair, with only their closest friends and few remaining family to be there. Still, Annette managed to find ever new details to worry about.

Their friends in Fhirdiad were more than willing to help: Ashe enthusiastically offered his services as a cook, and Mercedes promised to bake up a storm, even though objectively there was no need: the castle had more cooks than they knew what to do with, and Dimitri had offered their service. The space for the wedding was quietly agreed to be one of the palace's smaller gardens, and Dorothea, who was on tour currently and filling seats at the Fhirdiad Opera every night, had secured the service of a four string quartet for the day--personal friends of hers, she explained with a wink. They'd play for no charge except free drinks, which Dedue took to mean he should be prepared for increasingly intoxicated musicians as the night went on.

Even Felix, in his own roundabout way, had offered to participate in the ceremony as best man.

Dedue was not entirely familiar with Faerghus wedding traditions--truthfully, he could barely recall Duscur traditions, for how few weddings he'd been to--so he asked for details of what that role would entail. He discovered that, for some reason, well-armed groomsmen were a common feature of wedding ceremonies in Faerghus. To prevent 'disruption'.

"Who would disrupt a wedding?" Dedue asked, finding the notion appalling, yet not entirely surprising for Faerghus.

"Spurned lovers," Felix shrugged, "jealous idiots. Angry relatives." Then, added a bit more pointedly, "People who don't like the mixing of blood."

"I see your point," Dedue conceded.

"Usually the best man is the best swordsman in a wedding party," Felix continued. "Not that it's why I'm doing this. Though you'll not find a better sword hand for the role. But you understand."

Dedue was never quite sure he understood. There were times when Felix's train of thoughts was completely inscrutable to him. But Felix just stared at a point in the distance, looking more subdued than usual, and Dedue realized he had not given his answer yet.

"Yes, I suppose you would make an adequate best man," he agreed, and immediately saw the way Felix's shoulders straightened, the way he held himself closer to his usual prideful posture. 

"Good," Felix said, sounding entirely too confident considering how obvious it was that he'd been ready for Dedue to turn him down. "I'll see you there, then."

"At my wedding? Yes, hopefully so," Dedue drawled.

"Right," Felix said, and turned around to leave so abruptly he nearly clipped the door frame.

After that, Dedue found himself preparing more diligently. Annette's eyes lit up when he brought up researching Duscur traditions, even though all that really entailed was going into the Duscur quarter of Fhirdiad and having a talk over tea with a few very gossipy old ladies. The esteemed elders were only too happy to tweak both him and his betrothed until their ears were red.

But then, when Annette brought the cup of tea up to her lips, he saw her hide a smile in it.

* * *

Unlike Felix, Mercedes came to him with typical calm. She pulled him aside in an alcove, with a statue of the goddess with her hands spread above their heads, and asked him to think about who he would like to officiate.

"I can do it myself, of course," she said, smiling. "In fact, I would be happy to. But you may want someone more familiar with the Duscur religion to marry the two of you instead. It's your wedding too, so it's something to consider."

"Thank you," Dedue said, feeling touched by her consideration, "but Duscur wedding officiants weren't usually clerics. It was more common for a town elder, or the mayor to conduct the ceremony."

"I see." Mercedes now smiled in a way that Dedue might have called mischievous. "That does open up more options, then."

"Certainly."

"Dimitri would be very glad to be asked," Mercedes continued, and were Dedue a less composed man, he would have sputtered just about then.

"His Majesty has better things to do," Dedue said, feeling the heat rise to his face.

"Better things? I suppose that's possible. But not things he would prefer as much." Mercedes patted Dedue's arm. "Why don't you pass the idea by him? I'm sure it would make him happy just to be asked."

Dedue made a sound of acquiescence, though he did not entirely confirm he would.

It was not that he believed Dimitri wouldn't jump at the chance. But Dedue knew better than anyone how full Dimitri's schedule was. That he would come to the wedding at all was all Dedue wished for, but piling on new work for Dimitri was not something Dedue would have wanted to do.

When he asked Annette what she thought, one evening when they were both in his quarters and working quietly side by side, she did not seem to share his view on the notion.

"Dimitri would love that, I don't think he'd see it as work," she said as she absent-mindedly tapped her quill against her chin, leaving droplets of ink smeared against her chin.

Dedue passed her the blotting paper.

"It would be an imposition on him," he said.

"Oh, would it?" Annette asked, taking the blotting paper but staring at it uncomprehending; she did not yet notice the smear of ink on her chin. "Do you really think that, or are you just feeling nervous about asking? Because I think Dimitri would jump on the chance. He cares a lot, you know."

Dedue did not think it was nerves. It was Dimitri. There was nothing to fear in asking him. But for the past year, Dedue had seen the difference between how the court treated a prince, and how they treated a king. Before the war, Dimitri was always sought out by unctuous individuals looking to ingratiate themselves, trying to find some favor they could do for Dimitri that would indebt him to them. But now, when he was king, there were always nobles nipping at Dimitri's heels for favors, and sometimes Dimitri would wade through nothing but requests all day, and burn himself out trying to turn them down politely. Dedue despised the thought of being like them. He despised it the most because he knew that Dimitri would always bend over backwards for him, no matter what Dedue might ask, and it felt like a power he should not wield so recklessly.

Still, the next day, in the lull between one responsibility and another, when Dimitri was sitting in an empty council chamber squinting at the papers before him with the tired mien of a man whose eyes were blurred over from fatigue, Dedue concluded that perhaps he was thinking of this entirely wrong.

Dedue sat down across from Dimitri, and only a beat passed before Dimitri looked up, quiet and expectant.

"I would like to ask you a favor," Dedue began.

Dimitri placed the papers down, shuffled them into a stack and pushed them away, before leaning over the table attentively.

"Of course, Dedue. Anything."

_Anything_ , and Dedue's heart clenched at the word, because he believed it.

"Do not feel compelled to act upon it, it is only a... a passing thought," Dedue continued.

"Dedue." Dimitri had a ghost of a smile, some fond exasperation at this dance they both still did.

Perhaps Dedue was more nervous than he had realized.

"Annette and I would like to know if you would like to officiate at our wedding," Dedue said.

He saw it then, the way Dimitri lit up from the inside, the fatigue in his face burned away by a sudden glowing gladness that was so rare on him these days. Suddenly, Dedue could not regret asking.

"I would be honored," Dimitri said, and truly meant it.

* * *

Later that night, when Dedue told Annette what happened, she grinned.

"Dimitri's always nice like that," she said, and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

They were curled up on the sofa, watching the fire in Dedue's fireplace. It was late spring, but there was always a chill in the evenings anyway, and it was what Annette called 'cuddling weather'.

Dedue raised a hand to Annette's face, traced his thumb over the very faint stain of blue that remained on her chin even after she'd scrubbed off the ink the other day. It would probably fade completely to nothing by the next morning, after Annette washed her face again, which was just as well since she would have to leave for the School of Sorcery as the new week started.

For now, however, it was an endearing little mark on her face, a reminder of her sweet foibles. He kissed the spot, idly made his way to her lips. What was meant to be a peck on the lips lingered much longer, and then turned deeper. He felt her hands tug on his collar, pulling him down, and he went like a felled tree, because he never could resist her beckoning.

Sometimes, in his darker moments, he would be afraid of touching Annette, thinking she was small and breakable, and unsuspecting of just how much violence his hands had truly done during the war. 

But he could never think that way when Annette was right before him, because then he could touch her and see that she was muscle, and bone, and human warmth, solid and real under his hands. He could kiss her palms and remember that the tips of her fingers were stained black and purple with the after-effects of all the magic she had cast, all the destruction she herself had wrought. 

When it was hard to forgive himself, it was easier to forgive Annette, and kiss her knuckles, and think of the darkness staining her hands as something innocuous, like the stains that fresh walnuts left after a day of prying them out of their husks. It was harder to say out loud, but he could show her, every day, before she slipped her gloves on and went out in the world.

And when she was near, he could think only of keeping her nearer still. Her hair spilled around her head like a halo, catching the gleam of firelight. If he touched it, brushed it out of her face, she would reflexively reach for him as well, and cradle his face, and trace the scars and nicks on his face like she was offering benediction for each one. And when he buried his face in the crook of her neck, she would sigh his name.

Sometimes they cared for nothing more than each other's company, whether working at the same table or curled together on a chilly evening, but other times, when every breath felt like it came out heated against skin, they grasped at every part of each other that they could, hungry but still shy. The allowances made during wartime, when death scratched at their door daily, did not hold over into peace. And they had never gotten any further than that as a result: sometimes wandering hands, very few articles of clothes removed.

The matter felt more pressing now that they were betrothed. Now that they knew this would soon become less something they got away with, and more something expected of a married couple. They still only advanced inch by inch, weighed down by the borrowed shame of a society that expected chastity before marriage. Dedue would have wanted to shed it like every other aspect of Faerghus that he despised, but belatedly he realized that he had never experienced an alternative as he grew up, so he did not know what to replace the shame with.

All he could do was ignore it as he dragged slow kisses from Annette, and her hands plucked at his clothing restlessly, trying to find every patch of skin they could reach. When her fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, he inhaled sharply at the coolness of her skin, and she laughed soundlessly.

"Sorry! Sorry, cold hands, forgot," she snickered, and far from retreating, she flattened her palms against the small of his back, warming them up against his skin. 

Dedue rumbled a laugh as he nuzzled under her ear, and nipped her earlobe as chiding.

"Oh, I should-- let me--"

He lifted himself on his elbows as Annette squirmed below him, giving her enough room for whatever she meant to do. He was distracted by looking at her face--lips red, cheeks flushed, hair spilling across the cushions--that he did not notice until he looked down that she had popped open a button on the skirt of her dress, and shimmied it upwards until it was pooled around her hips. The full length of her white stockings was exposed, up to the blue ribbons keeping them tied, and then the stretch of bare skin above the stockings.

"That's better," Annette squeaked, her face red, and hooked a leg over Dedue's hip to pull him back down.

He propped himself on his elbows before he could crush her with his full weight, but there was still no mistaking how he pressed against her, and he felt his mouth go dry.

Annette surged up to catch him in a kiss--quick and insistent, like she was glossing over what she had just done--and Dedue could do little more than groan and surrender to the heat of it. 

She dragged blunt fingernails down his shaved scalp, firm enough to send tingling warmth through Dedue's skin, and he nipped her lip in return; her mouth opened with a tiny gasp, and Dedue pressed his advantage, kisses growing more wet and heated with each passing moment. It felt like rolling downhill, hard to stop once begun. But he had one hand curled in Annette's hair, and the other against her waist, and it was hard to remember why to stop.

Her legs squeezed his middle tighter than he expected, an undeniable press against his sides that reminded him how open and warm and present Annette was, that made him imagine other things they could be doing. And Annette--her hips hitched irregularly, small motions that sent lightning through him each time. His hand ended up on that exposed stretch of skin on her upper thigh: between the ribbons of her stockings, and the frills of her underwear, with his thumb pressing against the point of her hipbone to keep her from stirring him any further. Not that it helped much with that... situation. If anything, feeling that soft hidden flesh with his own hand only fueled his arousal further.

She whined, squirming her hips even as he tried to hold her still.

"Annette," he groaned into her mouth between kisses.

But then, like a thread snapped, they became suddenly, lucidly aware again, and froze. Dedue didn't know who stopped first, and who reacted to it, except that they pulled apart the few agonizing inches to stare at one another at the same time. Their breaths came quick and short, and their hearts hammered in their chests just the same.

"Dedue?" she asked, then dry-swallowed.

"Do you..." He tried to collect his words. "Do you want...?"

If possible, her face turned even redder.

"W-well," she said. "I--" She blinked uncertainly. "Eventually, I-- We should-- It doesn't have to-- To, ah--"

"To be now?" he guessed, because now that he said the words out loud, he felt relieved.

By the look on Annette's face, she was just discovering that she felt the same. They broke apart completely, retreating to opposite ends of the sofa and turning away as they set themselves to right against. Past his own heartbeat hammering in his head, he heard the brush of clothing as Annette rearranged her skirt. 

He smoothed down his own shirt; perhaps he should have tucked the hems in, because Annette had pulled them out as her hands wandered, but right now the loose drape of material felt needed to hide the unfortunate state he was in. He had to entertain several unpalatable thoughts before he felt he was presentable enough to turn around again.

When he eventually did, he turned to see Annette looking into the fire thoughtfully, hands curled in her lap. She did not look upset, exactly, but she did seem out of sorts.

"Annette?"

Her head turned reflexively at the sound of her name, but when her eyes fell on him, a smile bloomed on her face.

"Kind of feels like we don't know what we're doing sometimes, huh?" she remarked.

"I suppose."

He shuffled closer towards her, and when he reached out, she did not hesitate to take his hand.

"I mean, we really don't know," she continued. "Since we're both-- um... new at this."

That was putting it mildly.

Maybe it was better if they talked about it, but Dedue could not think of a single way to phrase things that was not profoundly mortifying. Annette had to feel the same, except he could tell that sometimes she tried to say or do something about it, because of how she'd end up stuttering, turning red, and changing the subject.

At this rate, their wedding night was going to be... well, perhaps that was a thought to put aside for now.

"I'm sorry," Annette said suddenly, after a much to long pause.

"For what?" Dedue asked, truly astounded.

"For... not being better at this?" Annette said, and shrugged, looking like she didn't know what she was apologizing for any more than Dedue did.

"That is hardly something I can fault you with," Dedue replied, and reached up to gently caress her cheek. "I am no better myself. Worse, in some ways." Much worse, he decided, as he recalled what a flash of stocking did to him earlier. He breathed slowly and tried not to think about it too hard.

"I know, but I still-- I want to be good at this. Because I love you." Her voice fell off into a near whisper on the last words, like an admission, even if it was something she had said before. It sent a strange, pleasant pain through Dedue to hear it, and he put his arm around her to pull her flush against him.

"And I love you too," he said, kissing her hair. 

They stayed in silence for a bit, listening to the crackle of the fire, before Annette spoke again.

"We should ask for advice about this," she said. "From someone who knows more about this stuff than us."

"Not Sylvain," Dedue said immediately.

"Ew!" she scrunched her nose and laughed, more playful than serious. "No, I was thinking of Mercie."

"Mercedes," Dedue hummed thoughtfully.

"You know, back when she and I were studying at the School of Sorcery together, and I got my, um, monthlies for the first time, she was the one I ran to for help, because I didn't really know about that stuff?" Annette's voice turned squeaky, and her words came fast. "And she never made me feel stupid or embarrassed about it, even if I should've already known all about in in the first place. She's really smart, you know," Annette added, though maybe she meant to say that Mercedes was very kind.

But Dedue did have to agree that, of all possible options, Mercedes would be the least embarrassing. She had a reassuring air of professional detachment as a healer, and a reassuring air about her that Dedue always appreciated as a friend.

* * *

The last time Dedue had lived in a house--a real house, not a room in a castle or a monastery, and truly lived there, not stayed as a guest--was long before he had been expected be responsible for a household. He had been doled out daily chores, had helped his parents fix a roof or paint a fence, had been taught the responsibilities of homekeeping, but he had also been a child back then, and not fully cognizant of what it meant to be an adult with real decision-making powers.

There was a kind of trepidation as he looked upon the interior of the house, dusty and cluttered with old furniture as it was, and realized he and Annette were free to decide everything about it.

Annette fiddled nervously with the key, her fingers clenching around it to reveal her own disbelief at the situation, but when she looked up and caught his eye, a laugh bubbled up from her. Dedue smiled in return.

"We should probably start by cleaning everything up," Annette said, and reached out to pull the while sheet off a nearby armchair. This revealed an ugly floral tapestry, yellowed by time, and Annette winced a bit.

The house had been sold to them for a pittance by an old woman who moved out of Fhirdiad and into the country side, to be with her family in old age. The furniture would have been too much of a headache to lug around, though anything else of value--monetary or sentimental--had been stripped out. On the walls, the outlines of removed paintings could still be seen against the smoke-yellowed wallpaper.

They proceeded to remove sheets, and dust rose up in the air thick and cloying. Dedue opened a window, and Annette tossed the sheets to the ground in a pile, possibly to be burnt later. Yet, already, the space looked more inviting without the air of abandonment.

This was still a foreign place to them, new and unfamiliar, but as the sunlight streamed in, as the warm wood of timeworn furniture was revealed, Dedue could almost see a future in which this space would be something familiar and welcoming. He could see, in his mind, the outline of a bookshelf that Annette would overstuff, the table where Dedue would place a tea kettle in the morning. The bedroom was just beyond the next doorway, and he could already imagine passing that threshold day after day.

"This is a good place," Dedue heard himself saying.

"It's going to be a bit of work," Annette said, her hand slipping into his, "but I think you're right."

He squeezed her hand, and nothing more needed to be said.

* * *

Their engagement was not excessively long, but it felt split between the ever-snowballing details of the wedding, and the task of preparing their house. Whether the decision was practical or romantic, Dedue and Annette decided they would move into the house as newlyweds. This required that the little time they had off from their daily responsibilities be spent in cleaning and fixing the house.

Not that they found themselves alone in this. Unexpected help came from any of their friends who could spare a moment. The day after Annette and Dedue moved in their new bed, Mercedes also arrived with a stack of blankets, quilts and duvets so high that it was a wonder she had seen where she was going. 

This continued in the same vein, their assemblage of friends dropping in according to whoever was in Fhirdiad at the time, and had time to spare. Felix and Sylvain popped in one day. Felix was less of a surprise, because he and Annette were better friends than Dedue could explain, and maybe Sylvain should have been less of a surprise as well, considering that he had never shown Dedue anything less than kindness. But it was still surreal to have the Margrave Gautier help nail up a set of shelves as though he had nothing of more importance to do that day. Just as it was off to have Duke Fraldarius help strip old wallpaper with a scowl that probably did the entire job by itself.

Other weddings gifts found their way to Dedue and Annette at the speed with which their distant friends received correspondence. It seemed that even those that they had not seen since the end of the war took some interest in the news of matrimony. Marianne, who could not attend the wedding because she was still being intensely tutored to one day replaced Margrave Edmund, sent a joint gift with Hilda, and for once, it was probably not because Hilda was too lazy to pick one out, but because the two were formally declaring themselves a couple. The gift was a hefty purse of coin, along with a letter explaining money was the traditional wedding gift in the Leicester Alliance, and apologizing if this was a breach of etiquette. Dedue could appreciate the cold practicality of it, and returned a letter assuring no offense was taken. 

Later just the same day, a gift from Ignatz came. A short note apologized for not currently having the funds for a proper wedding gift, but it was accompanying a small painting of a Duscur field in bloom. Dedue had not known Ignatz's travels took him through Duscur, but the image was so accurate that it was unlikely Ignatz had painted it without having stood there himself. Annette had to pen the letter of thanks for this one, because Dedue found himself too emotional to find the proper words.

Other gifts trickled in slowly: another purse of coins, but this time from Lorenz, and unlike Marianne and Hilda's gift, accompanied by a letter that self-assuredly remarked they should buy whatever they needed for their new household. Bernadetta sent a tapestry of a beautiful view she'd seen at Garreg Mach, and Ferdinand sent a letter informing them he had in fact commissioned a balladeer to compose a beautiful song in honor of their love.

Dorothea helpfully explained that in Adrestia, weddings gifts tended to be more symbolic in nature. She'd eyed Ferdinand's letter with an exasperated sigh, but she was restraining a smile as she did so.

"I'll ask Ferdinand for the sheet music after it's done," Dorothea said, "and sing it for you. It really is a thoughtful gift, by... noble standards."

Annette was delighted, at least, and Dedue recalled that she and Ferdinand often had choir practice together during their school days. Annette didn't have Dorothea's type of musical talent, but she compensated with enthusiasm, and that was perhaps where she and Ferdinand found most common ground.

A gift also came from the Archbishop. Enclosed in a letter congratulating them on their upcoming nuptials was a recipe that the Archbishop claimed had been found in the Church's censored records.

"The Professor still has a peculiar taste in gift-giving," Dedue remarked.

"Sure," Annette said, grinning, "but admit it, you really want to cook this now, don't you?"

"Of course," he said, and swiped the recipe from Annette's hand as she snickered.

But Dedue found that wedding gifts came from other, unexpected sources as well. Whenever he and Annette were at the house on their days off, arranging furniture or slowly moving their belongings in, there always seemed to be a knock and a shy-faced Duscur visitor at the door, handing off something: kitchen towels, or hand-painted crockery, or some other small, practical item that would be useful in any household.

Often, it would be people Dedue knew by name, had met and fought alongside not so long ago, had invited to his wedding. Sometimes, however, it was people he'd never even met, save for sharing a home country. He liked to believe he had made friends with his fellow countrymen, but it still touched and surprised him every single time one would show up and mumble well-wishes and hoist some gift into his hands before running off. He wished he had the words to make them stay for a while, but he understood their apprehension. He had the king's ear, and that made people nervous; only the elder Duscur women disregarded any kind of status completely, and playfully teased him, and fed him like he was a child wasting away. 

Still, Dedue couldn't help going to the Duscur quarter every week, and thanking anyone and everyone he could.

* * *

It seemed that, sooner than they both expected, the house was done.

It struck them both as they sat in the kitchen, sharing a cup of tea after they finished sweeping up. They'd gone through the whole house again, making small adjustments, until they realized there was nothing left to do but the moving in. The wedding loomed ever closer. But already there was a pleasant air of domesticity, ingrained into the house by the care that went into setting it all up. 

A possessive pride lodged itself in Dedue's chest whenever he looked around this space that would be his and Annette's, and he did not know what to do with the feeling yet, new and strange as it was. This was not home like Duscur had been, or like Dimitri still was for him, and the normalcy of it was almost unsettling.

He looked across the table, to Annette regarding him with a smile adorning her face, and all he could think was this scene repeating itself over years and decades of marriage. He had to look away before he was too overwhelmed.

"Everyone coming to help was nice, wasn't it?" Annette said at one point.

"It was," he agreed. 

She continued to look at him, her face soft and expectant. She enjoyed talking--could fill up a room with conversation all on her own--but he'd found that she also enjoyed listening, and learning, and... if she watched him like that for long enough, he sometimes felt words coming up to meet her.

"In Duscur..." he began, and her expression changed from expectant to attentive. It was a subtle shift, a minute difference, but he had learned it, in his many hours of studying her features. "When a young couple married and needed a place to live, the town would come together and help them build a house. Help fill it with furniture. Help... make it a home."

"Oh," was the sound that Annette made in response. "I didn't know. Was this... Did this bring back painful memories for you?"

"No."

He made a beckoning gesture, and she left her seat, rounded the table to stand before him, smiling like she'd guessed his thoughts. He reached out to hook his arm around the waist. She giggled as he pulled her into his lap and planted kisses all over her face, shifted for a better position, and once she had the necessary leverage, she retaliated with kisses of her own, peppering his cheeks and forehead.

They continued in this manner for a while, errant giggles trailing off as their mouths found each other, pressed together sweetly, and then more eagerly. Dedue's fingers sank into Annette's hair, scented like honeysuckle. Annette's own hands flitted restlessly across every inch of him she could touch: he felt the cool tips of her fingers against his cheeks, her palms slide down the line of his throat, her nails dig into the fabric of his shirt like a cat kneading. 

When he tipped her head back, slipped inside her mouth to deepen the kiss, she groaned so loudly that he flinched and struck his elbow against the side of the table, making the crockery on it rattle. They pulled apart and blinked at each other, sheepish and giddy as they realized what happened, and Annette's giggles bubbled up again. 

But there was no hurry. They pressed their foreheads together, and their quickened breaths evened out again.

"Can I show you something?" Annette asked, and then bit her lip like she hadn't meant to let the question escape.

"Yes," was Dedue's reply, so Annette hopped out of his lap, took his hand, and led him through the house and into the bedroom.

It was, like the rest of the house, clean and ready for occupancy. Drapes hung at the window, immaculate white but with tiny flowers embroidered along the edges. The rug was one of Duscur design that Dedue had received as gift and asked Annette to choose a place for in the house. It made their bedroom feel welcoming... cozy. And the bed, once a naked mattress, had been prepared with bedsheets, pillows, and a thick quilt that would likely see them through Faerghus' bone-chilling winters.

"We still have to move the rest of our clothes in," Annette chattered nervously, opening the wardrobe doors to show it half-filled with clothing, and dry bundles of herbs to ward off insects. "But we can change things around to whatever's more comfortable."

Annette pulled him along on a slow circuit of the room, passing the padded armchairs in front of the fireplace and going around the bed.

"You have done excellent work," Dedue said. 

"Well, I hardly did it alone," Annette said, and came to a halt next to the bed, her fingers still laced with his. He didn't understand why until he noticed the look she was giving him from under her eyelashes, and the dusting of pink across her cheeks. "But, um, maybe we should try it out?" Her voice pitched up nervously. "The bed, I mean."

He did catch on this time, but he didn't let his amusement show.

"I am certain it is comfortable," he said, keeping his face neutral.

Annette, apparently thinking her hints were passing him by, puffed up like a tiny bird in winter. It was cute.

"You won't know until you try it out!" she insisted. "A-and we should try it together, to see if we'll fit!"

Dedue had no real doubt that they would, as the bed was made to fit a small family, but he gave Annette a considering look anyway.

"I am certain you do not need to worry about fitting, Annette," he said.

She inhaled slowly this time, probably getting ready to change her tack, but then stopped, and gave him a suspicious once-over.

"Are you _teasing_ me?" she asked.

"Maybe a little."

"Dedue!"

In apology, he sat himself down on the edge of the bed, but this still didn't seem to satisfy Annette completely.

"You should take your shoes off," she said, her voice dropping low like she was suggesting something scandalous.

Perhaps she was. He held her gaze as he reached down and tugged off his boots, setting them neatly by the bed, and she grew increasingly flustered throughout this innocuous task, until she had to break the gaze and look away. He lifted his legs onto the bed and lied down, leaning back against the headboard, hands flat on his legs. 

"Hm." He held the pose for a few seconds, before nodding gravely. "Yes, it is comfortable." He made to rise.

"Wait!" Annette squeaked, and rushed to kick off her own boots. She all but bounced onto the bed, draping herself half over him in the process. Their faces were close together as she settled against him, the shy flutter of her eyelashes endearing. "We have to test it together," she said by way of excuse.

"Of course," Dedue agreed mildly, and just because he knew the kind of testing she had in mind, he brought his arm around her and drew her in closer.

They resumed what they had left off in the kitchen, exchanging kisses as they settled against one another. 

It felt like they were testing out how comfortable other things would be, rather than just the bed. Dedue carded his fingers through her hair, an imitation of Annette's own nervous gesture, and Annette plucked at the laces of his shirt uncertainly, not quite daring to loosen them. They ended up lying on their sides, face to face as their kisses slowed in frequency.

"I had a talk with Mercie the other day," she said, and it would have seemed like a very strange subject to bring up, if not for the fact that Dedue had had his own talk with Mercedes a few days prior.

"...Did you?" Dedue said. "And did she have advice to share?"

"Well," Annette flushed, her eyes darting away, "she had some. She said, um... that a house isn't built in a day, and that we should take it as slow as we need."

"She said much the same to me," Dedue admitted. In between far more mortifying advice about contraceptives and oils and-- all sorts of practical considerations that would not have crossed his mind. He'd sat through it all, however, because one way or another, it was something he would have to learn.

"Oh, then, I guess you know what kind of stuff she said to me. I, uh..." Annette swallowed before continuing, "I don't mind if we take a while! Mercie said lots of people are nervous about the wedding night, but that's just because it feels like they have to do something right then and there."

"Yes," Dedue said, strained.

"And she said it's fine if nothing happens on that night, because couples should feel free to set their own pace."

"Agreed," Dedue said, his fingers brushing through Annette's hair again, working loose any small tangle just to keep himself busy and not thinking too intensely about the matter at hand.

"But if we set our own pace," Annette continued, "then there shouldn't be anything wrong with doing, uh... married people stuff... before the wedding night... right?"

Dedue's hand froze, his fingers still curled into Annette's hair as he ran the words over in his head again.

"...Before the...?"

"You know," Annette said, high-pitched and a bit too loud, "if you'd want to! There's no rush!" And she laughed, though it sounded forced.

"Annette, do you want us to... sleep together? Before the wedding?" He tried to keep his tone even.

Her face still crumpled at his response, and she hid it in her hands as she turned over and faced away.

"Ugh, never mind! Bad idea, bad idea! I'm sorry I brought it up!"

"Annette--" He shuffled closer to her, arm going around her as he molded himself to her back. His hand ended up on the flat of her stomach, where he could feel her quick panicked breaths, close to hitching into sobs. "I do not mind you asking. I never would. I love you."

"I love you too," she said, muffled through her hands.

"But I need to know, is this truly what you want?"

Annette let out a long sigh, but some of the tension seeped out of her shoulders.

Dedue buried his face in her hair as he waited for her to gather her thoughts, mustering all his patience. He didn't want to voice any assumptions, or say anything that would make her feel defensive. But she had grown up in a religious household, and she had never shown an inclination towards going against the tenets of faith instilled in her. Chastity until marriage was something the Church of Seiros tended to insist on. Even if Dedue was indifferent towards the exact time they consummated their marriage, he did not want Annette to do something she would later regret.

"It's... actually something I've wanted for a while," she said at length.

Whatever Dedue expected her to say, it was not this.

"...It is?"

Annette twisted in Dedue's loose embrace, turning back around to face him again. She looked less miserable than he would have guessed by her posture, and only a bit flustered. She still couldn't completely meet his eyes, but she was deadly serious as she spoke.

"Well, yeah," she said, "of course it is! I mean, obviously I find you attractive! I'm marrying you!"

"...That you are." Dedue was too stunned to fully grasp what she was saying. "I... would not have thought my... hm... my appearance was one of the reasons that you... I am not the most..."

Annette looked more amused the more incoherent he became.

"It's--okay, not the only reason," she said. She grasped his chin between her thumb and forefinger, and kissed his lips. "But I... you know... like you a lot in, um... in that way too."

"Ah." Now he knew for certain he was the more flustered of the two of them. "Is this... one of the things you talked to Mercedes about?"

"Kind of. Maybe. ...Yes." Annette started plucking at the laces of his shirt again, this time more anxiously. "She said some things that made me think..." She licked her lips, and her brows pulled together in a frown, like they often did when she was mentally working through a problem. "You never treat me like a... a silly girl. And... you make me feel safe. So, maybe it would be fine if I just... told you about wanting to..." She trailed off, then cleared her throat as she tried again. "It's selfish, because I keep thinking I want you to see me the same way."

"I... see. I mean to say, I... do." She looked at him with piercing focus as he tried to explain. "I find you attractive as well."

Annette peered at him for a moment more, before she sat up on the bed. Dedue followed the motion almost instinctively, sitting up as well to lean against the headboard and watch her. She had a strange glint in her eyes.

"And do you want to do anything about it?" she asked. 

Dedue shied away from looking at her directly, but his gaze dropped to the row of pearly white buttons on Annette's shirt, and he looked away from that too.

"Sometimes... I want to touch you," he said.

She leaned forward. "Yes?"

He demonstrated, cupping her cheek gently. She smiled and nuzzled into the touch, placing a hand over his to hold it in place. He felt the tickle of her breath just before she planted a kiss into his palm. It sent pleasant tingles across his skin, felt more intimate than he expected. But it emboldened him to slide his hand down the line of her neck, tracing the shape of her shoulder. He could feel her heat through the thin cotton of her shirt.

But his attention was drawn again to the row of buttons on the front of Annette's shirt, and he didn't hide it this time.

"Y-you know what?" Annette squeaked suddenly, her hands going to the buttons, "It's actually really hot in here! I should-- y-yeah--"

She began undoing the buttons with uncanny speed, and it seemed that before Dedue could blink, she had whipped off her shirt and tossed it aside. The camisole she wore beneath was white, its thin straps revealing her shoulders and the naked expanse of her arms, her collarbone...

"Hot, yes," Dedue agreed abruptly, and yanked his own shirt over his head.

Once it was in his hands, he found himself staring at it, uncertain if he should toss it aside as well, or if taking the time to fold it would be rude. But then he realized he was staring for too long, so he looked to Annette, who seemed just as stuck on it as he was, and it was like he could read behind the stitch of her frown the question of whether she should have folded her own shirt.

When their eyes met, they burst into a bout of laughter, edged with hysteria at the absurdity.

Dedue set the shirt aside, more gently than Annette, but still brushing it off as unimportant.

"Come here," he said, and Annette fell into his embrace easily.

There was something rapturous about the skin to skin contact. His palms slid up and down her arms, circled her shoulders and settled on her upper back, where the ends of her hair tickled. Her fingers were cool pinpoints where they traced the planes of his chest and the outlines of his scars.

She had scars of her own, though fewer; but he could trace the shiny texture of a healed burn on her upper arm, and he knew there had to be the knot of an arrow scar somewhere on her side, because he remembered seeing the arrow pierce her from across the battlefield. Even if she was meant to stay on the back lines, there was never any real safety in war. But he felt self-conscious for his own scars, so many more marring his skin, and wondered if she would feel differently about him now that she could see them properly, feel the knotted skin and jagged marks.

"Oh, Dedue," she sighed into the crook of his neck. She threw her arms around his shoulders, lifting herself to straddle his hips, and this brought their faces level. "I'm never letting you get hurt again," she promised fervently.

Before he could muster a reply, she brought her mouth to his, her whole body pressing against his until there was no space left. Her words made something clench in his chest, raw and ragged, but the feel of her against him set every nerve alight. There was a hunger in it now, the way she kissed him, the way she touched with purpose, instead of restlessness. His own hand found the hem of her skirt, slipped under and followed the length of her stocking until it reached that stretch of bare skin on her upper thigh again, her hip; more daring than last time.

She made a little sound in her throat, and her hips pushed down against him, the angle just right that she had to have felt the hardness she rocked against. He gasped, taken by surprise as pleasure shot up his spine like lightning.

Annette pulled back fractionally, wide-eyed and red-faced as she realized what she had just felt.

Dedue opened his mouth to apologize, but then she ground her hips down again, harder and deliberately. Anything he was about to say was lost in ragged breaths and quiet groans as Annette began rocking against him in earnest, chasing a rhythm. It was awkward and nearly clumsy, but it still felt better than anything they'd done so far, unrestrained by the usual shame or sense of propriety. Annette made tiny sounds in her throat he'd never heard before, and he could only look at her, the writhe of her body, until he became entirely too aware of what this was a mimicry of.

He gasped sharply, his grip tightening on her hip to stop her mid-motion.

"Dedue?" She blinked, confused.

"If we continue, I may finish sooner than intended," he said.

"Oh. Oh!" Realization bloomed on her face, before it turned to concern. "Should we stop?"

"Only a moment." He steadied his breaths, cleared his thoughts. When he felt he had cooled off appropriately, he noticed Annette was looking down. She had the same analytical look on her face as she did when reading dense magic theory tomes, and it flustered him immensely in this situation. What was she finding so interesting about him?

"Annette--"

"Is that uncomfortable?" she asked, gesturing vaguely to his... state.

"Somewhat," he replied, unsure where this was going.

"In that case," she looked at him from under her eyelashes, "do you mind if I..." 

His mouth went dry. "Go ahead," he said, his voice coming out rough.

She unfastened his trousers with remarkable confidence, and they both flinched as he sprang free into their confines. The air was cool on his skin, but not enough to make up for how heated everything else felt. Exposed as he was, however, he felt aware of Annette's attention in ways he never had before.

He shuddered as her hand wrapped around him, the first time anyone had ever--

"I've never--" Annette giggled nervously. "You know. Tell me if I'm doing something wrong. I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not," he assured.

"But--"

"I will tell you." 

He wrapped his hand over hers, then, and demonstrated: a slow stroke, up and down again. He watched her flickering expressions throughout, the naked fascination, the same hunger he felt buried under his own skin. He watched her because he had to concentrate on something, anything, so he wouldn't finish right then and there.

But he also began experiencing his first misgivings about the situation.

"Annette."

"Mm?"

"I don't want to hurt you either."

Surprise flashed across her face, then Annette released her hold on him, and pulled her shoulders up, indignant.

"You're not going to!" she said, vehement. "I'll be fine! I can show you!"

She unbuttoned her skirt, kicking it off and letting it crumple to the floor, forgotten. He thought she would pause as she hooked her thumbs into the band of her underwear, but though she was shaky by that point, she shed that article of clothing as well. Dedue's eyes skittered away, towards anything and anywhere but at Annette, because he had never seen her in this state of undress before, nothing but a camisole and stockings, and this was suddenly too much at once.

She was on him, again, clambering over his legs, up onto his lap, gripping him firmly and moving with purpose as she positioned herself over him, readied to sink onto his length. Excitement flooded through him, but it was mixed with an acidic worry which soured it almost instantly.

There was something like a lull, a pause, as Annette shifted minutely; like the adjustments someone made before getting ready to just a wide chasm.

"Annette," he said, but her gaze was fixed on some point on the wall over his head and she didn't reply right away.

He didn't want her to do this out of stubbornness, and no matter how confident she tried to come across, he couldn't let go of the fear he would hurt her, or she would hurt herself trying to prove something that did not need proving in the first place.

He took her hand off him, and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight in place before she could do anything more.

"Dedue," she gasped, squirming, "it's fine! I can-- I can do this!" 

"I can't," he replied, and his voice came out shakier than he expected.

She stopped wriggling, and if she was not already flushed, he was sure her cheeks would have been set aflame just then. She looked at him, truly seeing him, and he felt her flinch, all bravado draining out of her.

"Oh, Dedue, I-- I'm sorry!" she said, unsure what to do with her hands for a moment before she placed them palms flat against his chest. She kissed his cheeks, apologetic. "I'm so sorry. I'm just trundling ahead and not even considering your feelings! Are you okay? Do you want to stop?"

Dedue considered, closing his eyes and hiding his face into her hair, warm and damp with sweat. Her skin was like silk, and his body came alive everywhere they brushed together. He wanted to be here, with Annette. He wanted... something, even if he had not fully figured out what.

"I don't want to stop," he said, because it was true.

"We can do something else," Annette continued. "What do _you_ want? Right now?"

"I like... this," he said eventually, as he parsed his feelings.

"...This?"

He dragged a long caress down her body, following the curve of her spine, his hand settling on the back of her thigh and squeezing.

"This," he said.

"We can-- we can definitely do that," she said breathily. "Do you want to kiss?"

"Always," Dedue rumbled, and felt her shiver in response.

* * *

Afterwards, when they had washed and redressed, Annette sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair as she hummed a whimsical song about brushing pegasus manes to herself. Dedue sat down next to her, watching her motions as only a smitten man might.

He felt strangely loose and relaxed in the afterglow, and he would have almost said sated, except he felt like he would never get his fill of looking at Annette, and being around her.

"I am sorry we didn't get around to," he searched for the least embarrassing word, decided there was no good option, "consummating."

"Oh, that's fine," Annette said brightly, and kissed his cheek again. "I think I was just a little pent up, I don't know what I was thinking, just springing that on you!" She stopped brushing her hair, turned pink as she looked at Dedue sidelong. "But... I'd like it if we still did other things. I'd... I'd like that a lot."

"Other things," he echoed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Yes," she said, suddenly bold.

"I would like that as well," Dedue agreed, and leaned over to kiss her temple. "I love you, Annette."

Annette turned to him, looking just as touched as the first time he'd said it. "I love you too."


End file.
